A major cancer center in a nearby city was familiar territory from Paul’s check-ups, so that’s where I’ve established my happy family of caregivers. I began with the “platinum treatment,” a combination of three platinum-based chemotherapy drugs that was the standard of care. I responded without progression for two and a half years. I’m what’s called a “high responder,” meaning I respond well to certain treatments because of the particular makeup of my tumor cells.
When chemotherapy was no longer effective, biomarker testing showed my tumor was positive for the BRAF gene mutation. That made me eligible for a clinical trial evaluating a targeted therapy developed for that mutation. I took lots of pills, up to eight a day, through fever spikes and near-crippling muscle pain while my dosage was adjusted. After a few months, my oncologist announced my lungs were clear for the first time since undergoing treatment. Hallelujah! Targeted therapy bought me another two years before cancer returned to the lung and moved farther into my spine.
We turned to immunotherapy, a type called an immune checkpoint inhibitor. I got an IV infusion every other week at first, then after a while, just once a month. It was so easy, and the entire process took less than an hour.
Cancer treatments almost always come with side effects. Getting three chemotherapy drugs at once would wipe me out, and I could barely get out of bed afterward. Immunotherapy damaged my thyroid, so I take thyroid medication. I’ve been on and off steroids to manage lung inflammation. Acid reflux, which makes my esophagus feel raw, is another side effect. Early-stage heart congestion may or may not be treatment-related.
Being realistic, I knew the immunotherapy drug would run its course, too. That’s just the nature of the beast with metastatic cancer. I get scans like clockwork, and if we see progression, we know the treatment has likely done all it can for me. After two and a half years on the checkpoint inhibitor, a scan showed an active spot on my left lung. My doctor recommended moving to a targeted therapy treatment of two different medications taken as pills. I’m so thankful I have options because I figure all I need is something new coming down the pike every two or three years.
As a lung cancer support phone volunteer, I make it my mission to give people hope. Sometimes callers say they just want to cry. I tell them, “Of course you do. You have every right to cry.” But then I gently try to move their outlook to a more positive light. The important thing is to have more good days when you’re positive than bad days when you cry. Personally, I feel so very fortunate for this gift of additional time, seven years so far. I can spend it being miserable about having cancer, or I can be grateful, positive and hopeful about my life.
We’re incredibly lucky to live in an era of rapidly evolving cancer research and expanding treatment options. Researchers and scientists are essentially changing what it means to be diagnosed with lung cancer.